by Nick Molloy
The other night I was on the road. I was on the way back home after playing the warrior. I was listening to LBC talk radio as usual. I felt compelled to call in, as the topic was discrimination in the workplace. I explained I was a stripper and gave a couple of examples of how discrimination is actually allowed against one in my position. However, he had to go to the break and I didn’t get to make my key point. If I were to inform prospective employers what I had been doing for the last decade the chances are I would never been employed again. I canvassed current opinion amongst a couple of people I know who work in banking. “it’s not that they wouldn’t think you capable of doing the job, Nick, it’s just they might think your background could raise a HR issue further down the line”. I was advised, unanimously, to eliminate all history of being a stripper from any potential CV I may write.
I’m sure that is sound advice. As a result, I haven’t actually changed my name back to Molloy. For now I continue to pretend to be an extrovert on weekends for cash. Until I decide how to proceed in life, I figured my new name might come in useful at hiding my past and alter ego. The irony is that I am still extremely proud of my alter ego and the spare time he has afforded me. Yet, if I want to return to mainstream society, at least without prejudice, Sexecute will have to be consigned to the realms of imagination.
Everything I have written is a true account. However, until I have earned enough money to truly be free, I may have to deny I was ever Sexecute. I guess we have come a long way on the subject of prejudice and discrimination in my lifetime so far. I wonder if I’ll ever see the day that bigotry and prejudice are truly eliminated, at least in law. It is illegal to discriminate on grounds such as race, gender, and sexuality. However, it’s perfectly legal to discriminate on other grounds. Having worked as a stripper I’m offered no protection in law. Somehow I don’t see that changing.
Nick Molloy
July 2015
STOP PRESS
It’s six hours on since I penned the final word. I did mention that the whole Dubai debacle had put a strain on our relationship. The poison it injected into that part of my life seems to have been terminal. I’m gutted. Unlucky isn’t the word. I feel cursed.
In fairness, Dubai was probably just a catalyst for some underlying issues. I’ve often referred to Sylvie as Sexecute’s girlfriend and only partially in jest. She arrived after Sexecute had been born and was well established. She was a punter in one of his many audiences. Throughout the ensuing years there have been large periods of calm and tranquility punctuated by occasional large bust ups. We have always patched them up after some serious heart to hearts. Indeed, her timings seems to perfectly coincide with my writing of this manuscript. It was Sylvie I refer to at the end of the first edition !
This time it looks permanent. There is no doubt Sylvie could be referred to as ‘damaged goods’. She suffered traumatic childhood trauma. Many of her actions probably hark back to an earlier trauma. She has come along leaps and bounds since our union and it’s been a joy to witness her grow as a person along the way. Alas, the abused often go one of two ways. They become deeply committed to helping others or they can indeed become abusers themselves.
Zoe and I still have a fantastic relationship. We are very close friends. She opined that in fact, perhaps it is I that is the broken one. I could definitely be characterized a ‘fixer’. I’m a problem solver. Sylvie is broken so I have tried to work out the problem and fix it. However, in doing so I have frequently opened myself up to a level of disrespect and abuse. I have always tried to provide Sylvie with what she wants. I desperately want her to be happy. However, a little like Pavlov’s dogs she has become conditioned that if she plays up she gets what she wants.
After the last major bust up but one, the settlement of discussion resulted in a marriage proposal. I surprised myself. It was important to her and we seemed very good when we were together. She seemed to question whether I wanted to be together long term.
We are a few years on. We are not married. She hasn’t grown as much as I would like. She still has some growing to do. She is still lashing out and ‘abusing’ the one who loves her. Stimulation once said ‘either you’ll fix her or she’ll break you’. Zoe has a point when she said I’m in a semi-abusive relationship. By continually trying to fix her and tolerating the disrespect with it, perhaps I am indeed the one that is more
broken.
Forever the analyst I have reached some rather unpalatable conclusions on the matter. Sylvie would indeed be best described as Sexecute’s girlfriend. The relationship was highly sexual from the outset and has always remained so. Nick was the caring one that tried to nature and develop Sylvie. He was the one that encouraged her into college and a subsequent profession as a beautician. He was the one that supported her financially and helped her through, all the while tolerating her ‘abuse’. Sylvie didn’t really respect Nick. Instead, she respected Sexecute, especially when she was bent over a log outdoors getting pounded by his big cock.
In this situation I feel a bit like David Banner when he turns into the Hulk. When Nick is provoked he gets angry and turns into the extrovert Sexecute with a throbbing erection who takes his revenge on his tormentor (Sylvie).
I really do love her dearly. The tragedy is that I don’t feel she has ever really loved me. As harsh and as brutal as it sounds, I feel simply that I was only ever a big dick and a cash cow to her. I can’t begin to tell you how shitty that really feels.
The wounds are fresh. However, I feel that I now have something I could resent Sexecute for. Sylvie came along with Sexecute. She has gone just as Sexecute is having his last hurrah. The irony is not lost on me, but it does feel tragic.
We started out essentially as fuck buddies. I’ve enquired as to her favourite sexual moment. To my surprise the very first time between us was mentioned as a possible. To me this was a very vanilla affair with the lights off. I was there because I fancied the arse off her ! However, it was special to her because I was the first guy to ever cause her to orgasm. Previous lovers didn’t care for her needs. They were also physically abusive.
That first night I nearly left within 5 minutes of arrival. She was so monosyllabic I thought she had changed her mind. I actually said I was leaving because she was obviously tired and I’d let her go to bed. It was then that she pulled out the immortal line ‘we can go to bed’. The next nine years is history.
She met me as Sexecute in a club. I essentially visited her as Sexecute. The guy who was up on stage would arrive, fuck her to within an inch of her life and then leave.
I don’t distinguish between Nick and Sexecute. I’m Nick. Sexecute is simply when I play an extrovert for money. However, punters often think I am that extrovert character.
It would appear that Sylvie fell into that trap. In turn we can further subdivide her character. Let’s call then Nympho and Choir Girl. The Nympho part of her character, that had lain dormant until that point, was awakened by Sexecute. After a while though, Choir Girl, who wanted to be a housewife, pushed down elements of Nympho and demanded a more normal existence (for example, living together). Nick duly obliged.
Over the last couple of years our sex life has probably become slightly less ‘slutty’ over time. It has still been intense but less so. I’ve been conscious of the fact that she doesn’t want to be seen purely as Nympho. Choir Girl feels that Nympho doesn’t command sufficient respect from her lover and feels that she shouldn’t be seen purely in those terms. I love Nympho and Choir Girl equally. One doesn’t go without the other.
However, marathon talks have revealed that Sylvie essentially fell for Sexecute. She didn’t really fall for Nick. Nick has loved and cared for her in every way he possibly could but when Nick became more dominant, he appears to be have been less desirable than Sexecute. I have only been treating her less slutty because I thought that she wanted to know that it wasn’t just her vagina that I respected. It appears this was an error on my part ! It’s a real downer, but my wife to be seems to pref
er my fictional character to the real me. That’s doesn’t make me feel too good.
It appears that it is over. I must be broken because I want to continue and I still want to be with her. This is in full knowledge of that fact, that as Zoe describes, the relationship could be termed semi abusive. In between the tears there is 1% of me that feels a tinge of relief. She is clearly very damaged and could potentially cause huge harm to me too.
We discussed possibly returning to the fuck buddy status. I appreciate you have probably just dropped your kindle. If you can still read through the crack in your screen let me try and add some kind of a rationale.
I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, I don’t do drugs, but my vice is that I love sex. I don’t think I’m addicted to sex, I don’t even think I have a particularly high sex drive. Yet, it gives me a real high. In this regard, Sylvie is dealer. I’m addicted to her drug.
I discussed in the first edition how female sexuality, on the whole, is toned down compared to a male perspective. Sexually, I am somewhat sophisticated for a man. Therefore, in searching for a female partner, probability states that I am likely to be disappointed. Sylvie ticks all my boxes. She is the epitome of sexual attraction for me and the Nympho side of her character satisfies my crazy sexual desires.
Relationships are not just about sex. Given that the Choir Girl side of her character was so unrewarding, why is letting go so hard ? In essence, like she was first and foremost in love with Sexecute, I was first and foremost in love with Nympho. I make no apology for such. I loved Choir Girl too as she came with Nympho. Alas, Sylvie could not say the same for Nick in relation to Sexecute. She never really understood, his quirky, Aspergery ways. Perhaps my narrow focus on the joy of sex is just another classic Asperger’s single line of focus.
At nearly every assignment I have attended over the years I have been asked do I have a wife or a girlfriend. The questioner is sometimes asking out of a personal interest. More often though, the female questioners struggle with the concept. How could a woman possibly allow their boyfriend to strip in front of so many possible suitors, runs their logic. I’ve long thought these questioners simply to be of an insecure disposition. Yet, it would appear to be they that are having the last laugh on this matter.
Sylvie has essentially been the fiancée of a made up person. In truth, she was not and has never been ‘normal’. If she was a regular girl, as the questioners have implied, she never would have dated a male stripper for so long. Perhaps the kind of girl who dates a male stripper for an extended period needs to be ‘broken’. Certainly, all the women I have been with who were demons in bed seemed to have psychological issues – pathological liars, violent mood swings, manic depression and excessively withdrawn.
Other strippers have reported similar things. Petrol was married early as a stripper but it didn’t last. He’s now re-married but only after he hung up the thong. Uniboy’s marriage failed after only a few years despite once seeming idyllic. He now resides with somebody of the opposite sex after again hanging up the thong. Stim reported difficulty in holding down a girlfriend during his time as a stripper. Perhaps I was naïve to think that a woman could love me for me and disregard my fictional alter ego.
Right now I can’t seem to sleep and I have no appetite. However, perhaps the cause is rooted deeper. I am a survivor, I learn to cope with difficult situations. The most difficult period in my life was probably my early teens. I felt misunderstood, lost and alone. When I ‘escaped’ to university I found friends and the love of a good woman. There were difficult times but I no longer felt alone because I had someone to share the trials and tribulations with.
As a teenager I was dependent on others (my parents) for food, shelter, etc. As a result I felt disempowered and unattractive. As I matured and earned a living of my own I felt the opposite. I was independent, could do as I pleased, I was attractive to the opposite sex.
It feels as if life is going in a circle. Now I have friends that as a teenager I didn’t, but I’m aging. Despite being in my 40s my body still looks 20 years younger. My face however is no longer the baby face of my youth. My hair now has grey strands and the best I can get away with these days is early 30s. My right knee now permanently aches. I think it needs an operation. The pain only dissipates if I cease to do all physical activity. If I cease activity I easily gain weight in the wrong places. I now have to watch what I eat to keep the body looking young. Chocolate has to be rationed these days. Sexecute is getting old !
Sexecute will soon cease to exist and I’ll revert back to plain old Nick. Most of my friends are older than I am. Probability states they will die off before I do. Back as plain old Nick, I will be older and without the sexual prowess of Sexecute. Not only that but my Aspergery ways will assign me as weird, quirky and difficult. Thus, as my friends die off and my sexual powers wane it seems that I am destined to return to the misery of my youth and feel all alone and helpless once again.
I think this is my deep subconscious psychological fear. I think this is why whenever I have woman problems it feels like my world is about to end. They say we spend the next fifty years getting over the first fifteen. It’s precisely my fear that I will return to the age of 15 when I’m 65.
Lois Lane fell in love with Superman but she thought little of Clark Kent. I feel I have now lived out the scenario. For a while Sexecute gave me special powers. Alas, even superheroes have to die sometime.
Nick Molloy
August 2015
Postscript – the final word
It’s November 2016. It’s been a tough two years. Since Sylvie left I’ve found it particularly difficult. I did all the right things to try and get over a major breakup but they seemed to have little effect. I met a new girl who was also recovering from a traumatic relationship disintegration. We were broken in unison.
The sheer insanity of it all just kept re-playing in my mind. I didn’t understand. My aspie nature couldn’t let it lie. I had to understand. 15 months after she left I had a eureka moment. It’s obvious to me now that she suffered from a condition called Borderline Personality Disorder. The first night I went around to hers I was about to leave as she was so mono-syallbic and withdrawn. She dragged me to bed. I recognize that now as a classic ‘borderline’ trait of ‘don’t abandon me’. The central irony of the condition is that those that suffer from it desperately want closeness and intimacy, yet the things they do often drive people away. They are self destructive on a cycle. In a relationship they firstly idolize, then cling, followed by dislike/hate. They love being a victim and live for drama. A normal relationship has a baseline. A borderline relationship has wild highs and lows either side of that line.
The toll it takes on the borderline spouse is significant. You meet a super hot chick and she instantly idolizes you. It’s intoxicating, the sex is wild and everything is wonderful. Then she crashes. You don’t understand, a moment ago it was fantastic, suddenly it’s over. You want to go back to the high. You are now addicted. You do everything within your power to fix it. By making massive concessions you return to the high and the cycle repeats. Eventually the borderline irrevocably destroys the relationship. She decides that she has revealed too much of herself. She thinks he won’t want me anymore so she leaves. No amount of pleading/bargaining can change things. She then starts to feel shame even if she recognizes the irrationality of her position. Her shame prevents a further fix. The borderline spouse has been on a rollercoaster ride and he is distraught.
The highs show you the potential the relationship has and makes you keep coming back for more. I knew she had issues I just didn’t know what. I felt like I was gently steering the car to a better path. In truth I was simply a passenger with very little control. Letting go of that potential has been the hardest thing.
The day before she left we were having sex. Even though she had decided she was leaving, coitus was uninterrupted. In the middle of the deed she burst into tears. I asked her what was wrong and she said ‘this could be the last time we
do this’.
It was as if she was saving ‘I love you, I want to be with you, but I’m leaving you. It was like she was hanging off a cliff. I reached out to her, she grabbed my hand but then deliberately let go and I watched her tumble into the abyss, completely helpless and powerless. This experience has haunted me since. It made no sense, I couldn’t understand.
A couple of hours later we were out to dinner. I asked her to explain and she couldn’t. We had amazing chemistry. I said I didn’t think she would find anybody else where the sex was as good. She said ‘I know that’. I pointed out that when I leave stripping behind I would likely only be a few years away from being a millionaire (when back in the rat race). She agreed. I asked her then, if everything was so good why was she killing us ? She had no answer. For 15 months I have been perplexed, stumped and bewildered. I think I’ve been clinically depressed.
Having now found that her behaviour was typical of the borderline condition it has been an enormous relief. Maybe I feel exonerated. I’ve sought help via an online support group. I’ve come across many men who had their own Sylvie who behaved almost identically to mine. Perhaps they are actually made in a factory somewhere in the continental USA. Maybe like the Terminator they could all look the same too. I have even found guys that had experienced the same sexual encounter with the tears flowing on both sides. I now believe in that moment (during sex), she probably had a moment of clarity realizing what she was doing/had done, hence the tears. I could see her struggling desperately to be the person she wanted to be. I could see the good within her, that wonderful part of her persona I deeply loved trying to come out, but ultimately unable to….and then it was gone. In retrospect it breaks my heart.